‘I was hoping for an early night. I’m yours for the taking, basically.’
Maggie grinned. Umpire had an innate knack of making her feel better no matter how low her mood was. He was good for her and she hoped the sentiment was reciprocated.
‘I’ll race you back to mine,’ she said, moving to open her driver’s door.
‘Keeping below the speed limit, I hope,’ he pretended to admonish. ‘Yeah, I’ll meet you back there.’ He watched as her gaze strayed back across the road to the newly painted door.
‘I bet she misses you too,’ he said softly. ‘She won’t stay away forever.’
Maggie sighed. ‘Knowing Lou, I wouldn’t be so sure.’
35
Julia went through the motions of her usual night-time routine. She washed her face, applied moisturizer and was just finishing brushing her teeth when Ewan came into the bathroom without knocking.
‘You going to be long? I’m bursting.’
She needed a wee too, but she let him use the toilet first and went to their bedroom to wait, sitting on the edge of the bed and idly flicking through the paperback on her bedside table because she’d lost her place and hadn’t marked where she was up to.
When Ewan came into the room minutes later she tensed. It was the first time they’d been alone all day and they still needed to discuss the police’s revelation that Poppy had been going to Benji’s house for tea. Julia had so many questions she wanted to ask her husband – who instigated the children getting together, was it him or Imogen? Had he been to her house too? How often were they in contact? Had they ever met up without the kids?
But she still hadn’t been able to ask because once the kids had gone to bed a surprise guest turned up on the doorstep – her dad, Malcolm. It transpired Ewan had called him and asked him to fly over from southern Spain – where he’d retired to a year previously – because he thought Julia could do with the support and an extra pair of hands with the kids while they were off school.
She’d been pleased to see her dad but also wary. He and Ewan got on brilliantly but her relationship with Malcolm was more distant, a hangover from her childhood when he ruled their household with an autocratic fist. As a teen she’d avoided being in his presence as much as she could and it was only when she got married that, at Ewan’s urging, their relationship improved.
Ewan began stripping off his clothes and laying them out on the blanket box at the foot of their bed, so Julia got up to go to the toilet.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him, then started nuzzling her neck. She could feel he was already hard and was filled with dread.
‘I don’t think we should, not tonight,’ she said. ‘Dad’ll hear us in the next room.’
‘We’ll have to be quiet then.’
‘No,’ she said, pulling away. ‘It doesn’t feel right, not with everything going on.’
This time he encircled her completely with his arms, making it almost impossible for her to move.
‘But I want to,’ he murmured.
The touch of him made her agitated. How could he possibly be thinking about sex when their family was in crisis?
‘Ewan, no, I don’t want to,’ she said, and she wriggled to free herself from his clasp.
Swearing, he shoved her backwards so she landed heavily on the bed.
‘You never want to,’ he huffed.
‘That’s not true,’ she protested.
‘Yes, it is. You should count yourself lucky I’m still here – other men wouldn’t put up with what I have to and would’ve started an affair by now. But I wouldn’t, because I’m not some awful bastard.’
Please, not another row, she thought despairingly.
‘I’m sorry, I’m just not in the mood.’
‘Do you not fancy me any more? Is that it?’
Julia’s smile was genuine. ‘Are you kidding? Of course I do.’
‘It doesn’t feel like it.’
She got up and went over to him. ‘Ewan Hepworth, you are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on and I love you.’
‘Show me.’
‘What?’
‘Show me you love me. Right now, on this bed.’
‘But I – I don’t –’
He went to grab his boxer shorts. ‘Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don’t want to live like a bloody monk the rest of my life.’
Julia was torn between wanting him to leave her alone and feeling as though she had no choice but to give him what he wanted. As she watched him pull on his boxers, resignation washed over her.
‘I need the loo first,’ she said.
The boxers were discarded in an instant.
‘No, you don’t,’ he grinned as he pulled her onto the bed.
‘It’ll hurt if I don’t,’ she protested.
But he’d already stopped listening.
36
The day had dragged even more than it did when the children were in school. Alan had tried to keep busy but invariably he found himself checking his watch again, only to be disappointed that so little time had passed since he’d last checked.
Eventually, to his relief, home time for the grown-ups came around. Teachers were expected to stay and work after the bell went at 3.30 but Mrs Pullman was that rare breed of head teacher who wanted her staff to have a work–life balance and insisted everyone go home by 6.30, instructing Alan to turf out any stragglers so he could lock up for the evening.
He walked out with the last teacher to leave and locked the main gates behind them. Heading down the lane, he made a point of waving as she drove past him.
Then he went straight to the pub as usual.
Keeping to his routine was important. Most people never noticed if you did the same thing day in, day out – but they paid attention when you didn’t.
The snug was busier than usual as Thursday night was quiz night and Doug, being the generous sort, always stumped up a decent prize for the winning team: free beer for the rest of the evening. Alan wasn’t one for quizzes, so there was nothing unusual in him declining invites to join in. Instead he stayed in his usual spot, at a table close to the bar, and chatted to a couple of the other regulars who, like him, preferred to be spectators.
At nine o’clock he rose from his seat on the pretext of going to the toilet. He’d only had a couple of pints, less than usual, but he pretended to be weaving drunk as he crossed the snug, as was his typical state most evenings at that time. If he got a shift on, he could be back before anyone noticed he’d disappeared. And if anyone did ask, he’d say he fell asleep on the loo, which he’d done once or twice before when he was bladdered, so nothing out of the ordinary there.
But instead of going into the men’s, Alan pushed open a door marked ‘Private’. It was the entrance that led upstairs to Doug’s personal quarters, but there was also a door that went outside into the back yard. To Alan’s relief it wasn’t locked, so he slipped out.
On the other side of the yard was a pair of double wooden gates leading into the street beyond but, as he expected, these were bolted shut and fastened with a padlock. He scanned the gates, then around him. He could probably get over the top of them if he had something to stand on . . .
Barrels. There were a couple of empty ones in the corner next to the wall. Alan managed to heave one across to the gates without making too much noise. Then he hauled himself up and reached for the top of the gate. His fingertips had just managed to make contact when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
His hands betrayed him, letting go before he was ready, and he landed heavily on the barrel. It wobbled but stayed upright. Deflated, he rested his forehead on the fence.
‘Alan?’
The voice was next to him now. He looked round.
‘I’m sorry, Doug. I know I shouldn’t be out here. I just –’ he could feel tears building – ‘I want to put thi
ngs right. I thought I could do it without anyone seeing.’
Doug helped him down off the barrel.
‘This about the Pavilion?’
‘Gus wants to reopen it tomorrow night. I can’t let him do that.’
Alan told him his plan and Doug stood there for a moment, thinking. Then he pulled out a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the padlock on the gates.
‘If anyone asks where you are I’ll say you’ve passed out in the loo. I’ll lock one of the cubicles from the outside.’
‘That was going to be my excuse,’ said Alan with a shaky grin. Overwhelmed with gratitude, he gripped the landlord’s hand and shook it. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m doing this because you’re a good bloke, Alan, and I don’t think you realize the shit you’re in. I’ll leave the gate unlocked so you can get back in. But don’t be too long: if you’re not here by closing I can’t cover for you.’
Ten minutes later Alan crossed the playing field to the outbuilding, mindful to hug the path that kept him out of the watchful stare of the CCTV. He unlocked the door, flung it wide open and grabbed the plastic container he’d seen earlier, which held spare petrol for the school’s engine mower. Then he rifled through a drawer where he kept odds and ends until his fingers folded over the small wallet of matches he knew was somewhere in there.
The back door to the Pavilion was locked, as it should’ve been. Conscious that he needed to make it look as though vandals were responsible, Alan kicked it open. It took a few attempts before the frame splintered, the steel toecaps on his work boots taking the brunt of it.
He paused for a moment in the open doorway. To anyone else it would look like a lovely little hideaway, the sofas making the space seem inviting and comfy. Bile rose up and scorched his throat.
He went to the sofa nearest the door, a blue corduroy number, and splashed some of the petrol onto the seat cushions, but not much – just enough to get the flames going. With a bit of luck it would be mistaken for lighter fuel: kids messing around with cigarettes, being careless.
Returning to the doorway, Alan lit a match; his hands were trembling so violently it took multiple strikes for the spark to catch. Then he tossed it onto the sofa and left as quickly as he’d arrived.
37
Friday
Renshaw insisted everyone be in at 7 a.m for the briefing, no exceptions. Maggie had joined in the chorus of moans but was secretly grateful for the early summons – it gave her a convenient excuse not to mope about her flat wondering if Lou or her parents were going to get in touch to wish her happy birthday.
She hadn’t given much thought to turning thirty, not in the way some people fretted; it was another year to tick off rather than a milestone to dread. But as she applied her make-up in the bathroom mirror, skin illuminated by the bright daylight streaming through the window, she did peer at the fine lines feathering out from the corners of her eyes and resolve to invest in a decent eye cream the next time she went shopping.
The one present she had received she left on the coffee table as she went to work. Confirmation of two flights to Rome, a gift from Umpire who’d got up at 5.30 to make her breakfast in bed. She was both thrilled and shocked at his generosity – Rome was a city she’d never visited but had always longed to. The fact that he’d booked the trip for September also gave her reason to smile – they hadn’t discussed the future so it was nice to receive confirmation that he saw them still being together months down the line.
Renshaw was in a tetchy mood as the team gathered in the incident room.
‘Right, settle down,’ she said as DC Burton, the last through the door, slid into a seat at the front of the room between Maggie and Nathan. Byford was seated in the row behind them.
‘We’ve got the go-ahead to bring in the dogs. But something else of significance has happened that I want to discuss first. Last night, one of the outbuildings in the grounds of Rushbrooke was set on fire.’ Renshaw slapped a picture of what appeared to be a sports pavilion on the board behind her. ‘This was how the building looked before. Someone driving past spotted smoke and called it in before the fire took hold completely, so it’s still standing, just about. But it looks like someone set fire to a sofa inside by pouring some kind of fuel on it. The fire service are treating it as suspected arson.’
‘Do you think it’s related to Benji’s death?’ asked Nathan.
‘I’m not ruling anything out,’ said Renshaw. ‘Someone took a massive risk breaking into the school grounds last night to set it on fire when we’ve been crawling all over the site for days.’
‘It’ll have been kids,’ said Byford nonchalantly. ‘Daring each other because we’ve been hanging around the place.’
‘Yes, it could’ve been,’ Renshaw admitted, ‘but my gut tells me not. The timing is too much of a coincidence.’
‘Do we know why there was a sofa in there?’ asked Maggie. ‘The Pavilion – that’s what it’s known as – used to be the old changing rooms, but it’s been out of bounds to the kids for ages. A sofa seems a bit weird.’
Renshaw frowned. ‘How do you know that?’
‘A couple of years ago some parents organized a big fundraising drive to pay for a refurb but it ended up being too expensive. So it’s been abandoned for ages. Last I heard the school was trying to get a Lottery grant to do it up.’
‘That’s interesting, because there were actually two sofas inside. We can check with Mrs Pullman exactly what the building was being used for when we head up there,’ said Renshaw.
‘Why not ask the caretaker?’ said Burton, cocking an eyebrow. ‘It’s his job to keep check on the entire school.’
‘He’s right,’ said Maggie, her mind whirring. ‘He’ll have unfettered access.’
‘I’ll be speaking to Donnelly this morning, don’t worry . . .’ Renshaw caught Maggie’s pensive expression. ‘What’s on your mind?’
Maggie took her time answering, ruminating on her theory as she said it aloud.
‘If you knew something bad was going on but you didn’t want anyone to know, you’d do anything to stop people finding out. And by people I mean us, the police,’ she said. ‘Donnelly’s changed his story to say Benji’s death was an accident, right? What if he did that not because it was true, but because he wanted to wrong-foot us?’
Renshaw’s eyes narrowed.
‘You mean Donnelly thinks that if we chalk Benji’s death up as an accident we’ll pack up and go home?’
‘Exactly. Only we’re not going anywhere, especially now Forensics are saying there’s unidentified blood at the scene.’
Burton sat up excitedly. ‘So he burns down the building in the middle of the night as another distraction.’
‘Yes,’ said Maggie. ‘Another incident in another part of the school is bound to turn our heads.’
‘So you think Donnelly might have something to do with this other blood that’s been found?’ said Byford sceptically.
‘Unfettered access,’ Maggie reminded him.
But Renshaw shook her head.
‘For everywhere except the building site,’ she said. ‘Mrs Pullman’s already confirmed Donnelly was supposed to check the hoardings were locked up at night but he wasn’t the key-holder. The project manager is, a bloke called Neil Simpson. If there was any problem relating to the site, the school called Simpson to sort it out.’
‘So Neil Simpson is a person of interest?’ asked Byford.
‘Let’s see what the dogs find first,’ said Renshaw.
Maggie tried to hide her disappointment as her theory unravelled in front of her. She had been certain she was on to something.
‘I agree with you that Donnelly’s lying about Benji,’ Renshaw acknowledged. ‘I just don’t see the rest stacking up.’
‘Honestly, you should’ve seen his face when he changed his statement,’ Nathan chipped in. ‘Smug as anything because he thought he’d convinced us. My cat’s a better liar than he is.’
Laughter rippled around the ro
om.
‘We do need to find out why he’s spinning us a load of crap,’ Renshaw added.
Byford lazily raised his hand. Renshaw stared at him.
‘Yes?’
‘I think you’re being too quick to condemn the man,’ he said. ‘It’s like you’re determined to prove he’s hiding something because if Benji’s death was an accident it’s not our problem any more and you don’t get to be SIO. Sorry, but I think you’re putting your personal agenda before the truth.’
Maggie’s mouth dropped open. It was an outrageous accusation for Byford to make against Renshaw, especially in front of the rest of the team.
The room stilled as they waited for Renshaw to let rip, as Maggie thought she would, but instead the DS falteringly outlined the team’s objectives for the day and called the briefing to a close. As she quickly left the room, Nathan turned on Byford.
‘That was fucking out of order,’ he snapped.
Byford remained unruffled. ‘If you want to sit by and say nothing as she puts Donnelly in the frame for God knows what, be my guest. But I’m not having my career screwed up because of it.’
‘We’re a team, she’s our boss, we do what she says,’ said Nathan.
He stalked from the room. Burton, looking equally peeved, followed him.
‘What about you, Maggie? Are you going to stand by her to the bitter end? Although, judging by that ridiculous theory you came up with, I’m pretty sure I already know the answer,’ said Byford scathingly.
‘Thrashing out theories, however crazy they might seem, is part of being a detective, or did you miss that bit in training?’ she retaliated. ‘As is knowing when to disregard them, which is what I’m doing. I get what you’re saying about not rushing to assume the worst of Donnelly, but the way you spoke to DS Renshaw was so disrespectful. She could have you thrown off the case for insubordination.’
‘She won’t,’ said Byford blithely. ‘Look, it’s really simple to me: Donnelly changed his statement because once the shock had worn off he knew he couldn’t be certain Poppy had pushed Benji and he felt he had to say so. But instead of believing him we’re searching for angles to punish him for not wanting to convict an eleven-year-old girl for something she didn’t do. And that’s because Renshaw wants to make a name for herself with this investigation. Don’t even try to pretend like you don’t know that’s true, Maggie.’
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